Um, Robert Frost, The Road Not Taken, two rose diapers in a yellow wood, sorry I could
not travel both, and be one traveler long as I stood, and look down one as far as I could,
to where it bent in the undergrowth. Then took the other as just as fair,
having perhaps the better claim,
cause it was grassy,
and wanted wear, though as for that, the passing there, had worn them really about the same.
Two rose diapers in a wooden die, I took the one less traveled by, and that's made all the difference
to me.
And both that morning equally lay, in leaves no step that trodden black,
Oh I kept the first for another day, yet knowing how way leads on too late,
I doubted if I should ever come back,
Two rose diapers in a wooden die, I took the one less traveled by, and that's made all the difference to me.


I took the one less traveled by
And that's made all the difference to me
Hello.
Hello.
Wow, I just did this poetry thing.
I don't know, it's like, just take it for a poem, okay?
Don't expect any...
It's a Robert Frost poem, and it's really hard to do.
Yeah, I think that's good.